when
by Klaraholic
Summary: She doesn't even remember how it started. He'd just called one night, much too late, and she'd been up studying and picked up her phone without even glancing and then they'd just...talked. About nothing, really. After that, it just becomes a thing. / kc set during season 5ish but also with light s6 plot mentions because timelines are hard.


"It's just-" She doesn't know why she's talking to him about this. Or telling him, of all people. This is the kind of shit that Elena and Bonnie are created for. The best friends. Not the...almost _something _that resides half a world away and hasn't seen her in over a year. He's silent though, to an extent that she wonders if maybe he hung up on her. But she can hear him breathing, and somehow she knows that he does it just for her. Breathes. So she knows he's there, silently waiting to hear whatever teenage drama she's about to vent out to him. "I'm tired of being second choice."

There. She says it. Rips it off like a bandaid and lays it all out there on the table for him to see and boom. Done. Can't take it back now. But she sucks in a breath anyway, curls her fingers into the fabric of her bedspread, curls further into her bed, closes her eyes tightly. She waits for the sigh, the sigh that always follows that simple sound of 'oh _Caroline_.' And then he'll give her The Speech, The Speech Elena and Bonnie have practiced so much for so many years that it doesn't mean anything anymore. The one that she could recite front and back at this point. Ironic, isn't it? She lives an entirely new life now. She's a vampire. An orphan. Graduated from high school, no longer living in Mystic Falls. ( Just outside of it but, she considers that a slight victory. ) And nothing has changed. She's still every bit the insecure little girl that she was the bar all those years ago.

Still though, he's silent. Maybe he's asleep but no, no she can hear him moving. Shuffling papers, boots hitting the floor with a dull thud, the smallest of sighs coming from him. He's waiting for her to continue and...no one waits for her to continue. "I'm...I'm Elena's Bonnie backup. And Bonnie's Elena back up. Stefan only wanted me because Elena was taken, Bonnie's best friend is _Damon _now. Which, seriously? I mean, Elena falling for him was bad enough but now Bonnie's gone and made him her BFF because they survived one life-or-death stint in a prison world - _don't ask_ \- but doesn't that break girl code? Enzo was my friend, I guess, but then he found his creepy lost love, also Stefan and Damon's mom, it's a long story and it's gross and I don't want to talk about it. I lost Tyler, like, eons ago, and he chose revenge over me anyway. Matt has been brainwashed by some psycho vampire-hating douchebag and I just...I'm second choice. Second rate. You know?"

Does he know? It's only when she asks it that she realizes that he must. Because everything he said to her, everything they've shared - they're so freaking similar it makes her head spin. The dad issues, the unending loneliness. She'd rolled her eyes at him when he'd given her the whole 'we're the same, Caroline' line. But now she's starting to see the truth in it. "You're not." She's so deep in her own thoughts that she almost jumps at the sound of his voice, momentarily forgetting that her thoughts aren't just going into the void. That the void is actually the world's most apex predator, who can and will ( and _has _) kill someone for much less than wasting his time.

"I'm not?" He's a man of so few words. Pity, really, because she's a woman of many. Far, far too many. And most of them don't even really _mean _anything. Not really. She talks to fill space, to be noticed, because maybe talking will make people look her way. Women aren't meant to be silent, her mom taught her that. Women are meant to raise hell and tame it only when need be. Women are meant to lead and direct and be stronger than men - not meek. Not silent. So she never was. Only, most of the time she fills silence with things that don't matter. Ramblings. Confessions. Admissions. She hears what might be a hint of a smile on the other end and yeah, yeah she can hear it in the differences of his breathing. That's how much they do this little...phone chat thing now.

She doesn't even remember how it started. He'd just called one night, much too late, and she'd been up studying and picked up her phone without even glancing and then they'd just...talked. About nothing, really. She'd bitched about microbiology, and he'd sounded amused when he'd asked her why she was even _taking _microbiology. And then she hadn't had the energy to explain the whole 'Elena's dad might have been involved with a creepy vampire experimentation cult, but honestly who's really surprised anymore' thing. By the end of it, she wasn't anywhere near ready for her test. But she'd felt better. Strangely.

"No." This time it's her turn to be silent, her eyes tracing along the patterns on her bedspread, hand slipping beneath the pillow under her head as she gets more comfortable. It's her turn to listen, to wait for him to elaborate. Because if she waits long enough, he will. That's their thing, you know. Waiting? He jokes about it being champagne. Sometimes she jokes about it being him saving her life after being the one to put it in danger, or her pretending that everything between them can be chalked up to just gratitude or fear or the baseline empathy she has for the rest of humanity. Like he's nothing special, obviously. But really, it's waiting. He waits for her to be ready for someone like him, fully knowing it could be a year. Or a century. She waits for him to give her a reason. He waits for her to make the next move, she waits for him to escalate it. It's an intricate game of chess. But she's terrible at chess. Never really had the patience for it. "Not to me."

She should have known. And yeah _okay_, on some level she _did _know that those would be the next words from his mouth. Three little words that slice through her like a hot knife through butter. Or is it a knife through hot butter? She doesn't know. And she's not going to bother worrying over the semantics of it. Three words that hit harder than they should. _Not to him_. He's no pretending that everyone else doesn't treat her like shit. He's not telling her that it's all in her head. That Bonnie and Elena love her as much as they love one another. He's not even going to try and tell her that just because they're both moving on and finding their own people, it doesn't mean they care about her less. He's not giving her the whole 'no one puts you second, Caroline' speech she's heard variations of for her entire life. He's just admitting that he won't be the one to do that. Maybe the whole world, at some point, decides that Caroline Forbes is the side-girl, but he doesn't. To quote a very wise semi sub-par movie - she's not the exception, she's the _rule_. But he's her exception. And she's his. And they've waited so long to find one another that it's nearly laughable, how much they're screwing it up.

Or, well, she's screwing it up, she supposes. If she got up right now, bought a ticket to New Orleans, planted herself on his doorstep and announced that she was ready - she highly doubts he'd turn her away. Look at her like she'd been possessed, maybe. Wonder if it was some kind of half-assed distraction technique, definitely. But turned her away? No. No, she can't imagine him ever doing that. It is a bit terrifying though, knowing that the thing she's waited her entire life for is right there in front of her. All she has to do is reach out, grab it and hold on and never let go. And yet she's terrified.

"Yeah well…" She's not sure what her line is now. Does she say something heartfelt? Witty? Bitchy? Whatever she does, it's bound to get the same reaction. The look. She hates that look. That look terrifies her, in the worst way. Funny, right? Klaus Mikaelson has torn into her flesh and drank her blood, he's left her for dead feet away from him. Stabbed her, manipulated her, nearly sacrificed her - he's done a thousand things but the thing that scares her most is that god damned _look_. The one where he tilts his head just so, and his lips turn up in that smirk, just _so_. When his eyes shine and he looks at her and she feels warm. Not hot, not like that time in the forest, no. But warm. The kind of warm that makes her dip her head and hide a blush and push a curl behind her ear.

Like they're kids.

And not vampires, one of which who has lived to see an entire millennium. "Mind telling my friends that?" She doesn't know how long the gap is between her statements, but she knows he probably doesn't care. He doesn't count the seconds, doesn't count down to the moment she hangs up the phone. He doesn't pretend like he's paying attention when really he's doing something else. He just listens, and she pretends not to know that he stops everything when she calls. Even if it's just to remind him that _technically_, she's underage. So the bottle of champagne for her birthday? It's _not _appropriate.

"I'm sure I could find some way to get the point across." For some reason, she smiles, because it's that voice. The kind of boyish, 'to what are you referring, sweetheart?' voice that implies torture and death and mayhem - but it makes her smile anyway.

There are times, yes, that she calls him for the joy of it. Getting her first A on a really hard class, needing a recommendation on a good decorator for the party she's taking over. Asking the 'theoretically, if I were draining a mad scientist of blood, how much would I need to take so that he'd be weak and in pain but not in _too _much pain' question. Sometimes, yeah, she calls him just to hear his voice. To ask about New Orleans. To remind herself that, at any given moment, when she wants it, there's a whole world out there waiting for her.

And then there are the times when she calls him because she can't stand it anymore. This small town life. The constant loss and gain only to lose again. When she's sick of being the same girl she used to be, when she's tired of not being the one that gets chosen. She calls him when they all turn their backs on her and walk away like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like they're doing her a favor, not loving her like she loves them. She calls him to pretend that it doesn't hurt, rants and rages and gives him every ounce of hatred she has while pretending there aren't tears burning in her eyes, like she's not crumpled on the floor of her bathroom trying not to cry because someone left. _Again_. And they always leave. She gets close, she loves - she _loves _\- and they walk. And that's how this works.

Which begs the question that she refuses to ask herself - would he? If she gave herself to him, if she shows up in that day or that century and drops a suitcase on his porch and grins and shrugs her shoulders because she's finally, _finally_, run out of excuses as to why they're not doing this thing. Will he get tired of her? Tired of the chase? Tired of the push and pull and build up? "Do you think you'd get sick of me?" She doesn't mean to say the words. Caroline Forbes. Always lacked a filter. Always voicing her thoughts. Foot? Meet mouth.

It's her turn to wait, again. Holding her breath this time, hearing the small rustle on the other line as he shifts, probably preparing his answer. "Honest answer?" They do that sometimes too. It gives them both a little leeway. He knows she's not ready, and she knows that on some level, he isn't either. Having her means giving up something too. War, bloodshed, an eternity of turmoil that he'll never truly be able to be rid of. Having her means giving himself a chance to be happy, and potentially ruining it. Having her means inviting a weakness; a living, breathing, rambling mess of a weakness that's far too easy to exploit. But there are moments, moments like this, when she thinks she might be ready for those answers ( the real, honest-to-god ones ), where she might not need him to lie to her or sugarcoat. Or make some kind of joke about a question that bubbles up from the deepest roots of her insecurities.

"Honest answer." It's hardly a breath, a whisper against her pillow as her eyes close. The blanket climbs further over her shoulders, tucked to her chin now, her body curled beneath it like she's preparing herself for the rejection that will come when his honesty hits her. Another thing they're good at? Hurting one another. They both know it, neither try to deny it. She's been picking at the loose threads in his 'Alpha Hybrid Boogeyman' facade pretty much since they first met. And it doesn't take him long to look at her and pinpoint each and every thought that mulls around her brain. Every fear. Every worry. At the drop of a hat, either one of them could go right for the killshot. They just have to trust that the other won't do it. And honestly? She does. Trust him. With that.

"No." One syllable, two letters, and it hits like a swift kick to the chest. _No_. She opens her mouth to ask why, but before she can - he's already speaking. This isn't the time for drawn out pauses, or waiting, or that age old trick of being silent just long enough to make someone spill their secrets. "Caroline," Not love. Not sweetheart. Not a thousand other pet names he uses when he's trying to get under her skin or tease her or when he needs to soften her up for something. Her name. Which means he means business. And means that her entire body is frozen like a deer in headlights there under that blanket a million and one miles away from him. "Maybe in the beginning," He finally admits, and she swallows, fingers curling tighter into the blanket, eyes shutting tighter. At some point, she's stopped breathing, hanging on his every word, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "You were a challenge. And we both know how I feel about challenges," Pause. Inferred smirk. She rolls her eyes, and he continues on. "But it changed. I almost lost you. On numerous occasions, and I realized…" She can't breathe anymore, can't move a muscle. If she does, it might shatter the much too fragile divide between them right now. "I realized I don't quite want to live in a world that you're not in."

Literally though, what even is air anymore?

It's a solid minute before she can even form a response. Because her thoughts are a mess. He's given her plenty of lines over the years. Last loves and however long it takes, and 'I fancy you's. It's just...none of them ever felt like that. And maybe it's because things are different now. She can't pinpoint the moment when they shifted, she just knows that they did. And now whatever playing field they're standing on, they're even. She's thrown stakes in the game and now...now she has something to lose to.

"So even when my hair clogs the shower drain and I burn food and annoy you and we fight all the time because there are like a hundred and fifty billion things that we need to work out if it's ever going to work - you won't...stick me in a coffin for a few years? Or...compel me away?" When. She says _when_. And it doesn't escape either of them. She doesn't mean to say it, especially because she knows him. That 'when' will be a promise. Cemented into his memory. If she thought he was barely tolerable in his advances now, it'll only get worse now that there's a '_when' _on the table. Caroline swallows, feeling her heart beat so wildly against the inside of her ribcage that she wonders if it's possible to sustain permanent damage from it.

"I happen to know a thing or two about plumbing," She loves when his voice sounds like this. Soft. Barely containing the snicker lying beneath the words. Or the genuine smile tucked just beneath that. "No bloke in their right mind would let you near a kitchen, and I don't think you could ever possibly annoy me. And yes, there will be…" He pauses, and she can hear another smile in his voice before he repeats her words back, "Like a hundred and fifty billion things we're going to need to work out, however I'm sure you've a detailed plan in how to deal with each and every one." He pauses again and she lets out a breath, relaxing into her mattress.

And then he inhales again, and speaks, and... "But on the off chance that you did manage to _annoy _me -" He amends, knowing she's about to pipe in with an argument ( she does so love to argue with him. ) "I think you'll find there are far more..._enjoyable_," And there's the shiver. The one that comes when his voice drops to a specific octave, when his words slow and his accent thickens and she just kinda..._melts_. "Ways to occupy you for a few hours." She swallows, he's grinning ( she can practically hear it through the phone. ) "Besides love, I would never lock you in a coffin. I was thinking more along the lines of...a tower? Dungeon maybe. It depends on the limit of the offense."

She laughs at that, which is weird, because he's literally made a joke out of a legitimate fear and she hates when people do that. But suddenly it's not a fear anymore. Not really. She's sure it'll come up again if they ever decide to breach the subject of _when _again. But for right now, she believes him. Her eyes close again and her body relaxes against the bed. She hears him moving around again, there's a small clink of a glass and the sound of liquid pouring into it. She wonders if he sleeps, because he never seems to. Whenever she calls, he's sketching, or reading, or ducking out of a room filled with voices she doesn't recognize. Caroline licks her lips, letting the comfortable silence just kind of wash over her in the darkness. "I should probably go to sleep." She finally murmurs, small sigh following the words. Like she doesn't entirely want to, and neither does she. The movement on his end pauses, she hears a swallow as he sips at some of what she assumes must be some high end whiskey. And then he breathes out. Not disappointed, just...reluctant. She can't help but smile at the now-familiar sound.

"Goodnight, love." They never say goodbye. That's the one constant. And it's nice really, because no goodbye means that she'll have another hello. That maybe in a few days or weeks she'll get a phone call from him and this whole thing will start all over again. Caroline smiles, waiting a few moments until she replies, waits until she's good and ready to depart from him for the night. One day, one day she thinks maybe they won't have to. And that time will come, she knows it will, just...not now. When things are right. When they're right, it'll happen. And when it happens, she has no doubt that it'll be as glorious and frustration and adventurous as she's imagined it to be.

"Goodnight, Klaus."


End file.
